


Lazarus

by minazukihatta



Series: Break Medea [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor is best boi, Depression, Gen, Hank cries, Hank's Potty Mouth, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Please comfort our tired dad, Suicidal Tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minazukihatta/pseuds/minazukihatta
Summary: It’s two weeks after Cole’s 14th birthday party, an occasion held in booze, tears and a cupcake sitting in the middle of the kitchen table instead of a revolver, that Hank learns that his son is alive.(That AU where Cole comes back from the dead with superpowers that nobody asked for but is getting anyway.)





	Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I wanted Cole back from the dead with superpowers and Gavin with superpowers and this is what happened. I tried to take out plot holes and inconsistencies where I could. Hopefully you all like this. 
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://detroit-become-magic.tumblr.com/) if you want more!
> 
> Edit: I made some [fanart](https://detroit-become-magic.tumblr.com/tagged/series%3A-break-medea) if you wanna check it out!

It’s two weeks after Cole’s 14th birthday party, an occasion held in booze, tears and a cupcake sitting in the middle of the kitchen table instead of a revolver, that Hank learns that his son is alive. 

 

It’s Connor who tells him, well, shows him. He hands over a tablet with a video paused on its screen and tells Hank to watch it straight through to the end. Normally, Connor would inform Hank upfront about anything, knowing the man’s distaste for unwelcome surprises. This change in behaviour gives Hank pause for concern. Hank presses play and--

 

A boy sits at the centre of a table, the flag of the UN behind him. A press conference? The boy is too pale, skin bordering grey and his willowy figure is dangerously close to skeletal. Despite there, there’s the flare of determination in his eyes as he looks out to the sea of cameras and reporters. Part of his hair is swept over to cover part of his face and he dons an all-black suit. (What, is this kid in his edgelord phase right now?) Through all of that Hank can see a painstaking resemblance in the brown of his hair and eyes, the cuts of his cheekbones and the upwards turn of his nose. 

 

“My name is Subject Seven,” the boy in black opens. “Before that, my name used to be Cole Anderson until a scientific research organisation called Medea took me and many other children to be used in numerous unethical and inhumane experiments.”

 

Hank nearly drops the tablet. 

* * *

  
  
Hank was vaguely aware of Medea. The news hit a month ago. He heard tidbits from co-workers, the radio and TV. Medea, a shadowy organisation, that took kids and tortured them to get superpowers. Hank thought the superpowers part was a load of bullshit, until he saw the older teen sitting next to his son-- _ that was alive _ \--who had hair that was on literal fire. It was a highly touchy subject to the public since these were kids that were taken and used as lab rats.  

 

“Some experiments were failures, often leading to the other children held captive being disposed as _ waste _ or having their bodies used for further  _ medical research _ ” his son goes on, a brittle hate palpable in his word. “Others were a success--” Cole looks sideways to the boy--girl?--to his side with bright orange skin, scleraless blue eyes and dark flaming hair that breezed slightly in the air--“And some had mixed results.” 

 

At that, Cole brings up a hand, black and claw-like, to pull his hair up. Bile surges up Hank’s throat when he sees Cole’s face. Dark, spidery veins stuck out against white skin, exposed pink flesh clashing against it and pale bone visible around the socket of his eye.The crowd gasps at this, taken aback and horrified murmurings travelling amongst them.  

 

Cole brings his hand back down and glares hard at the cameras. “We’re here today to bring Medea out from the shadows, seek justice for what was done to us and make sure no more children is hurt as we were.”

* * *

  
  
The clip runs out there and Hank falls into the couch, hands in his face and heart jack-hammering in his chest. He can hear shuddering breaths coming out his mouth and the world beginning to sway around him. 

 

He looks up to Connor, calm and collected, a lighthouse in a sea of uncertainty, and asks, “Is that really--?”

 

“It is,” Connor answers. His face softens, losing its cold rigidity, and he takes a seat besides Hank, hand on his shoulder. “There was a large data drop on the internet, releasing many of Medea’s files, though encrypted. Your son’s, uh, research files was among them.”

 

“Hold up, this Medea shit was a month ago! How long did you know about Cole, Connor?!” Hank yells. This is Cole,  _ Cole _ , Connor knows about Cole, how important this information is--

 

“Two weeks,” Connor supplies. “I refrained from telling you because I did not know if Cole was still alive.” He pauses, face twisting in guilt. “I also didn’t tell you because I didn’t want your heart to break again.”

 

Hank gets up, towering over Connor. His fists clench at his sides, nails angrily biting into his skin. “YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME, CONNOR! I HAD A RIGHT TO KNOW IF MY KID WAS BEING USED AS A FUCKING SCIENCE EXPERIMENT!”

 

Connor holds up a pacifying hand to Hank. “Hank, you need to calm down. Your blood pressure is rising dangerously and you could be bordering on a heart attack.”

 

“FUCK YOU, CONNOR!” Hank roars. It drags the wind of Hank, leaving Hank huffing and panting. He can’t get the image out of his head, of his son’s face, half ripped open. Hank rubs the burning sensation stinging his eyes with his hand. 

 

“Hank--”

 

“Jesus, do you think the car crash--do you think it might have been some fucking conspiracy?” 

 

Connor considers this. He looks to Cole’s frozen image on the tablet screen and then back at Hank, sympathetic. “It’s likely that it was a kidnapping attempt that succeeded.”

 

Then all these years, blaming himself, blaming androids and then ‘rightfully’ blaming the doctor too doped up on red ice--it was all for nothing. And all these years Hank was tucked away in Detroit, safe and sitting on his ass, his son was God Knows Where, being  _ experimented _ on like some fucking  _ rat _ . 

 

He was nine when Hank lost him. Cole was just a child that didn’t do  _ anything _ . 

 

“I need a drink,” Hank huffs out, heading over to the liquor cabinet. Connor doesn’t stop him. 

* * *

  
  
After two bottles and four reporters knocking on Hank’s door, Connor drags the man out to the park with Sumo. Hank sits on the bench, blankly looking out to Connor who plays with the Saint-Bernard on the healthy green patch of grass.

 

One part of him can hardly believe it. Cole’s back. His son’s alive. The other part is blaming himself for not being there to protect him. When that becomes too much for him, he rips out a loud “FUCK”, drawing the attention of park-goers nearby. Connor pauses, staring at Hank from his place on the ground, Sumo’s behemoth mass lying on top of him. 

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Connor asks. 

 

Hank doesn’t really know. He settles for, “Do you know anything else?”

 

Connor sits up, dirt and blades of grass sliding off the material of his track jacket. Sumo rests his shaggy head on the android’s lap. After Connor double-crossed Cyberlife and officially came under the employ of the DPD, Hank took Connor out shopping for new clothes when he got sick of seeing Connor in his old clothes and the android police uniform. Connor’s face of turmoil at the silent torment he went through at having to decide what to buy was one Hank enjoyed seeing after all the shit the peppy little fuck put him through. 

 

“There are about 20 other children, including Cole himself, in UN custody. He appears to be a leader or a spokesman of sorts, given how he is spearheading discussions and appearances. Currently, there is an investigation into Medea and its operations by Interpol before a trial starts. There are 97 people under custody for actively participating in Medea’s criminal activities and the number is believed to rise as the trial nears.”

 

“Do you know where he is now?”

 

“New York. However, where he is staying in New York is classified information.”

 

Hank scrubs a hand over his face. “Five fucking years … Jesus Christ  _ on a stick _ . Think I’ll get to see him?”

 

Connor considers this. “It’s a small detail that hasn’t been noticed by most, I think, but Cole doesn’t see himself as Cole anymore. In all the times he’s introduced himself or referred to himself, he’s called himself Subject Seven. Brainwashing and torture are believed to be methods used in pursuit of Medea’s goals. It’s possibly that he could have memory issues. He may not be as attached to you as you are to him.”

 

Hank’s face falls. This day keeps on getting better and better, doesn’t it?

 

“But,” Connor adds, “I like to believe that he will come to see you. You are his father.”

* * *

  
  
Fowler calls and gives Hank the week off. “Reporters been here looking for you. Reed and a few others managed to shoo most of them away. They’re probably heading for your house instead.”

 

Fowler doesn’t ask if Hank knew. He’s seen the hell Hank had been through the last three years. 

 

“How you holding up?”

 

“Honestly, it’s been a rollercoaster of ups and downs and I’ve already thrown up despite not even coming off the damn ride,” Hank answers. “Connor’s keeping me out of the house to avoid any reporters that’ll show there. Any other parents going through with this shit?”

 

“One that made the press all the way in the Philippines. Theirs was the flame-y haired kid sitting next to your son. Think Interpol’s trying to find the parents of the other kids but info came out that some of them were even sold into Medea so this is turning into a protective services nightmare.”

 

“Christ.”

 

“Yeah. Hank, if you need a place to lay low until all this blows over, my home is open to you and Connor. And Sumo,” Jeffrey adds the last part hastily. 

 

“Thanks, but that isn’t necessary. I’ll manage.” Hank imagines that if he crashed there, the house Jeffrey lived with his husband and three kids would get quite cramped. Hank hangs up after that, drained despite not doing anything strenuous that day. When Connor ambles over with Sumo, a ‘nutritious’ cheeseburger in hand, Hank manages a small smile at him.  

* * *

  
  
Hank comes back to work four days later, sick of near obsessively stalking the internet for news. With each scrap of information that comes out about what Medea did to those kids (and his kid), Hank feels as though he’s aged a year. He had enough of sitting in the house, pretending the reporters didn’t exist, while his kid was all the way in New York, navigating the murky world of politics and adults seemingly by himself.

 

The moment Hank shows his mug in the bullpen, all eyes are on him. A silence rolls through the precinct like a wave, doling out curious stares and pitying gazes. 

 

“What?!” Hank barks out. “Do I have something on my face?!”

 

They look away, trying to make themselves scarce with their own tasks. Hank stomps over to his desk, Connor trailing behind him like a loyal poodle, and falls on his seat with more force than necessary. 

 

After thirty minutes of Connor and Hank catching up on the work that piled up while they gone, Reed comes up with a cup of coffee in his hand. Hank readies himself for whatever snide remark the asshole will come up with. Hank doesn’t expect for the asshole to set the coffee on his desk. 

 

Hank squints at the detective suspiciously. “What the fuck?”. 

 

“Look, just--” The detective throws a scrap of paper from his pocket at him. Hank catches it and unrumples it to reveal a set of numbers. “Call that number when you’re in private.”

 

“Is this a reporter you’re setting me up with?”

 

“Trust me,”--which Hank doesn’t--“It’s not.” With that, Reed hustles back to his desk. 

 

Hank and Connor share a confused, questioning look. Connor’s LED cycles through red and yellow, eventually settling on a neutral blue once the bot made his judgement. 

 

“It would be further out of character of Detective Reed to give you a reporter’s number if he was the one of the staff to clear them away yesterday. I’ve also observed he does a semblance of human decency.”

 

“Right …” Hank replies skeptically. 

 

Hank stuff the paper in his pocket. If it turns out to be a reporter or worse, he can always punch Reed in the face afterwards. He’s got the justification for it. 

* * *

  
  
It doesn’t turn out to be a reporter. 

 

Hank calls the number after he gets home, tired and wanting nothing more than to seclude himself in his room. Connor’s in the living room, watching the Little Mermaid with Sumo on the couch. Hank stands in front of the kitchen sink, waiting patiently as the tone dials. He gazes out of the window, the scene of his fence, brown and aging, with the unkempt grass lying at its feet. It’s quiet and mundane as ever.

 

_ “This is Seven.” _

 

Seven? It’s a young boy’s voice that Hank hears. Wait, is it--?

 

“Gavin Reed gave me this number,” Hank says uncertainly into the speaker. “I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

 

_ “Oh, _ ” the boy says.  _ “You’re my father.” _

 

Hank tightens his grip on the phone. His boy is on the other side of the line. A long time, Hank had run through scenarios of what he would say if he ever got the chance to talk to Cole again. How much he missed him. How Hank would never let him go again. How much of a mess Daddy was. 

 

No words come to his mouth now. His tongue weighs as much as lead in that moment. 

 

Cole clears his throat on the other side of the line.  _ “Well, that makes sense. I told Gavin to give my number to you when he got the chance. I was worried when I saw the number on my screen.” _

 

“So you--you’re really--You’re alive?” Hank manages to get out. 

 

_ “Yeah,” _ Cole huffs out.  _ “I can barely believe it myself at times.”  _ There’s a pause following Cole’s words telling Hank that his son is refraining saying something more.  _ “Are you okay? I know I’ve been dead to you the past few years. I think an experience like this can be a bit … much.” _

 

“A bit much? Understatement of the fucking year. Shit, sorry, I didn’t to swear--”

 

_ “Shouldn’t adults watch their fucking language in front of impressionable ears?”  _ Cole asks, voice laced with amusement.  _ “And you call yourself a member of the Detroit Police Force. Shame on you.” _

 

Hank laughs. Hysteria, stress, relief pours into the bellows, keeping the sound alive until he can feel the tears stinging his eyes. He’s vaguely aware of Connor leading him to a chair and the android’s hand stroking his shoulder. By the time he’s finished, Hank lets out an ugly, wretched sob. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Hank says, his voice hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

_ “What for?” _ There’s a cold edge in those words. 

 

“I should--I should have protected you. I saw what was in those files.”

 

_ “Did you sell me to Medea?” _ Cole asks. 

 

The question makes Hank do a double-taking, blinking away as he registers those words. “N-No. I wouldn’t--you’re my kid. I would  _ never _ do that.”

 

_ “Then you did right by me as my father because a parent would never do that to their child,”  _ Cole says cooly.  _ “It’s not your fault this happened and neither is it mine. So do me a favour: don’t destroy yourself over this. It’s not worth it.” _

 

“Jesus, you sound so grown-up. Where is this coming from?”

 

There’s a pregnant silence over on the other side of the line. Hank waits anxiously for Cole’s next words.  _ “I need to be honest with you. The experiments Medea performed on me removed most of my memories. I wasn’t even aware you were my father until I saw your name on my file.” _

 

Something inside Hank clenches painfully. “Wait, so what do you remember?”

 

Another moment of silence.  _ “I remember the car crash. I’m sorry that’s all there is. I’ve tried to remember more than that but every time I try, I’m pushing against a brick wall.” _

 

“The car crash … Was it--”

 

_ “Medea had an invested interest in me. When they decided it was convenient, they staged a scenario where I ‘died’. It was more convenient than having to deal with the missing child case of a prolific police lieutenant.” _

 

Hank can’t find anything to say in response. Hank couldn’t protect Cole and because he couldn’t protect, Cole got hurt over and over  _ and over-- _

 

_ “I can feel the guilt and self-hatred eating at you from all the way in New York,”  _ Cole snaps, sounding exasperated. _ “Stop that. It wasn’t your fault. If you want to blame somebody, blame Medea.”  _

 

“Oh, I’m fucking blaming them,” Hank growls angrily.

 

_ “Then you’ll have some vindication in the eventual trials of the staff involved in Medea’s operations. Personally, I’m hoping for the death sentence.” _

 

Hank is taken aback by the sadistic pleasure he hears in Cole’s voice. “That’s a little dark for a fourteen-year-old.”

 

_ “Didn’t you read the articles?”  _

 

Hank did. “Okay, you’re justified. Those fuckers have it coming.” Hank allows himself to reveal in the knowledge that his son’s alive. It’s a sweet release from the swath of confusion and anger bogging him down to fully appreciate the fact. But Hank wants to be more selfish, he wants to really hold his son right now. “When can I see you?”

 

_ “I--”  _ Cole starts.  _ “I’m sorry.”  _ Hank’s heart falls.  _ “It’s going to take a while. I’m currently in talks with the UN, Interpol, FBI, the Child Protection Convention, politicians, the list goes on and on. I’m doing it so they don’t decide we’re a danger to the world and better off dead.” _

 

“But you’re kids.”

 

_ “Medea wanted to push the boundaries of what humans can do. What they got was weapons of mass destruction. Our abilities aren’t natural and--well--humans tend to be scared of what they don’t understand and when they don’t tend to understand something, they make irrational decisions.” _

 

“Jesus,” Hank breathes out. “That must be a fucking nightmare.” Cole shouldn’t have to be dealing with this. He’s only a kid and he’s already fighting for his damn life. “Look, I can fly up to New York and do what I can--”

 

Cole is quick to shut him down.  _ “No, stay in Detroit. You are the head of android crimes there. You’re more use there than here.” _

 

“That hurts.” Cole’s right though. Hank might only a lieutenant but he doesn’t hold any political sway when it comes to politics Cole’s dealing with. If anything, Hank might get in the way. 

 

_ “But I would like to meet you, though,”  _ Cole confesses.  _ “You don’t seem as horrible as most of the other humans I’ve met. Perhaps once I manage to convince the UN the experiments and I are not going to take over the world and kill everybody, I can find some time to meet you.” _

 

“Yeah, I would really like that,” Hank replies sincerely. “I love you. I … I never got the chance to say it enough before and I--I’ve missed you so much. I’ve been an absolute wreck without you.”

 

_ “It wasn’t your fault _ . _ ” _

 

“I know that  _ now _ . It doesn’t really erase the years you’ve been gone though.”

 

A pause.  _ “I should hang up now. I’m looking after the younger experiments and I can already hear screaming in the background.”  _ As if on cue, Hank can hear a girl shouting and the sound of something breaking. Cole sighs heavily.  _ “Yeah, I really need to hang up now.” _

 

“You’ll call right? And I can call you?” Hank asks, desperation deeping into his tone. 

 

_ “Of course. Just text me before you do so I can find some privacy or reschedule. Bye.” _

 

“I’ll--yeah--I’ll hear from you later, Cole.”

 

Cole hangs up. 

 

Hank lets out a deep exhale. For the first time in a long time, Hank feels like he can breath again. He wipes at his face with sleeve, drying that tears that made its way down his face. 

 

“Cole sounds well,” Connor states, sitting on the other side of the table. 

 

“Yeah,” Hank says. “I still can’t believe he’s alive. This isn’t a dream, right? I don’t wanna wake up if it is.”

 

Connor softly smiles and reaches over to pinch Hank’s forearm. Hank winces at the sensation of nails digging into his flesh. 

 

“You little shit,” Hank throws half-heartedly. 

 

“It’s not a dream, Hank,” Connor says. 

 

That night, Hank has a small smile on his lips as he writes Cole’s name into his phone’s contacts. 

* * *

  
  


Hank approaches Reed’s desk the next day. Reed doesn’t bother taking his feet off the desk when he sees Hank and Connor striding purposefully towards him and waits for them, fingers paused above his phone.

 

Hank fixes a pointed glare down at Reed, bearing his gaze down heavily on him. Reed, to his credit, keeps a neutral expression. “How do you have Cole’s number?” 

 

Gavin calmly looks to the precinct around them and pulls his feet off the desk. “Not here. Too many eyes and ears.”

 

“Then we can relocate,” Connor suggests. “You and Hank are currently on break. We could easily go somewhere else.”

 

Gavin couldn’t fight Connor on that point. “Fine,” he grunts, pushing himself off his chair. He looks over to a deviated RT600 model in an android police officer’s uniform. Hank recognises the android from Kamski’s place, though Hank didn’t know if she was Chloe or one of the other plastic barbies there. “Oi, Clio, I’m going out for lunch so don’t bother calling me.”

 

“Sure, Detective Reed,” Clio returns. “Bye, bitch.”

 

Gavin throws his middle finger up at her and turns away from her. “Fucking plastic bitch,” he grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. 

 

“I had no idea you were friends with Clio,” Connor points out. 

 

“We’re not,” Gavin snaps immediately. “She just likes to annoy me and play with my cat. We’ll talk in the parking lot nearby.”

 

Connor and Hank follow Gavin out of the precinct. Gavin throws a wave at Chris. The officer cautiously takes in the the sight of them walking out of the precinct, knowing the rough relationship they had. Hank never had much of an opinion on Reed other than ‘coffee asshole’ and grudgingly good at his job. When Hank wasn’t looking for a fight with prick for bothering Connor, he stayed away from Reed, preferring not having to deal with the asshole unless he had to. 

 

The lot’s empty, save for the three of them. Reed heads over to a bike, presumably his, and leans back against it, arms crossed. 

 

“Aight, so, Sev--your kid. How do I know him?” Gavin starts off. 

 

“Yeah, it’s a little surprising that  _ you _ have his number but I don’t,” Hank says accusingly. When the jitter of his conversation with Cole wore off, Hank realised how odd it was for Reed to be in contact with Cole and Hank, his  _ father _ , wasn’t. 

 

“Look, Cole and I, we’re not exactly friends,” Gavin begins. “But we’re acquaintances to say the least. Medea’s existed for years. It wasn’t always Medea; it went through a cycle of names to keep anonymous and out of the public eye. When I was nine, I got taken by what Medea was called then--Crown.”

 

“Holy shit,” Hank breathes out. No wonder Reed was such an asshole. Being sold off by your parents and used as a human guinea pig was bound to give anybody a complex.

 

“This would mean Medea or least its associations has existed for over 30 years then,” Connor says. “If they planning to create superhumans, then wouldn’t they have been more visible?”

 

Reed pinches the bridge of his nose. Obviously, this was a touchy subject for the man. Hank doesn’t blame him. “From what I remember, Crown was an experimental group. They were still testing out things back then. And they needed humans to test on.”

 

“Were you a success?” Connor leads the questioning steadfastly, taking the information in stride. “I’m assuming you wouldn’t be standing here, if you weren’t.”

 

“Christ, you’re a brown-noser. I was. But Crown wanted to go further with their experiments so they could replicate the results. I wasn’t sure how. Pretty sure it wasn’t going to be nice though. One of the scientists had a morality crisis and got me out.”

 

“So then how did you meet Cole?”

 

Gavin’s face sombers up and there’s a hard flintiness in his eyes. His grip on his arms tightens. “What I got from Crown was pre-cog--future sight--and then some. I get flashes of what’s going to happen. I had a vision where I saw Cole and the lady who got me out …” Reed pauses, as if considering what to say. “I had a rough idea of where and when the vision was so I took some vacation time and went. Our meeting was heated to say the least but on the bright side nobody came out dead.”

 

“Medea was still kicking, then,” Hank points out. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

 

“It was suicide at that point,” Gavin answers defensively. “Medea had connections. It would have been easy to make the death of a Detroit detective look like an accident. Or take him back for testing.” Gavin lets out a heavy sigh, his body sagging from the force. “I know Seven--I mean, Cole is your kid. But I know firsthand what he’s like and what a place like Medea can do to you. He won’t be the same person you remember.”

 

“My son’s alive,” Hank says firmly. “That’s all that matters to me.”

 

Reed takes a step forwards, patting Hank on the shoulder. “You’re going to want to be careful around that kid. He can be a very bad person sometimes.”

* * *

  
  
_ “What’s Detroit like?” _ Cole lazily asks. 

 

Hank calls again that night, given the green light from Cole. He sits on the couch with Sumo on his lap. Connor is cooking dinner in the background. Hank can smell the chicken all the way in the longue. 

 

“Bit chilly this time of year, plenty of androids walking around, especially after the revolution. What’s New York like?”

 

_ “I haven’t been sightseeing. My keepers want me to stay indoors. Although I do enjoy sneaking out at night to get up to the roof and see the skyline. There’s so many lights; they remind me of stars.” _

 

“So stars are your thing?”

 

_ “I’m not sure what’s my thing to be honest,”  _ Cole says.  _ “Have reporters been bothering you recently?” _

 

“Some. Nothing I can’t handle though. How’s it going at the UN?”

 

_ “There’s been some progress. There are more sympathisers now, thinking we’re abused children taken advantage of by horrible adults. Though, there are still others believing we’re threats to international security. They’re not wrong. Hopefully they’ll be pressured by public opinion. One of the other subjects have gotten a social media account to boost it.” _

 

“That sounds manipulative,” Hank muses. Reed’s words play out in his head.  _ He can be a very bad person sometimes.  _

 

_ “I guess it is,”  _ Cole replies nonchalantly.  _ “At any rate, since my business with the UN is nearly done. My focus is shifting to relocation. The CPC keep on butting in despite my and most of the older experiments attempts to keep them out.” _

 

“Well, you are all minors,” Hank points out. “Lemme guess, they’re trying to put you into foster families?”

 

_ “Not quite. Although, they are aiming for that. They’re going to have us speak to psychologists to gauge how safe it is to place us with a family as well as what kind of therapy we’ll require.” _

 

“You don’t sound too happy about that.”

 

_ “The other subjects won’t talk to strangers. We’ve been through anti-interrogation methods at Medea. I have been informed that psychologists will not use physical torture as a method of getting us to talk. I just need to be aware of the mental tactics they’ll use.” _

 

“Cole, they’re not there to hurt you.” How far had Medea had gone to sow this much distrust in Cole? It hadn’t escaped Hank’s notice either that Cole has been referring himself and the other kids as subjects. Not kids or people even. “They want to help.”

 

_ “I’d appreciate it if they just let us be. I’ve spoken to the subjects. A majority of us would prefer to stick together than to be separated. Only one subject wishes to go back to their biological family. All we really need at this point is just a place to stay away from prying eyes.” _

 

“Have you told CPC that?”

 

_ “We did and they said they would take it into consideration. I don’t quite trust them to abide by that point.” _

 

“What are you going to do if they decide to separate you all?”

 

_ “Leave,”  _ Cole answers simply.  _ “The subjects and I have had quite enough of people telling us what to do.” _

 

There was no hesitation in Cole’s words. There was a part of Hank, the fatherly concern that never went away, that feared if Cole did decide to go through with it. Hank could clearly see that Cole was not a normal child, seemingly capable of handling himself and others. He can’t force Cole to do anything at this point of their relationship. If he did, he did at the chance of alienating himself from Cole. 

 

And he’s only gotten his boy back--he can’t go through losing him again. 

 

So Hank does the only thing he can do at that point: be somebody Cole can trust.

 

“If you need a place to stay, you have always have your room here.”

  
  


“Thank you,” Cole replies after a while. “I appreciate that.”

* * *

  
  
Conversations go on and on. Cole manages to call most nights. The reason if he couldn’t make it was if because Cole was incapacitated or busy with more meetings. Hank finds himself getting through work easier these days, knowing that Cole’s alive now, if different than before. 

 

The moments when he remembers the torture Cole went through weigh down on him from time to time. But Connor, ever-so-present Connor, Connor who seems to know and endure all of Hank’s moods, is always there to pull him out of those dark moments, distracting him with work, enticing him with food or letting Hank simply talk. 

 

If Connor had never entered his life, would Hank still be alive today to see his boy alive? It’s a dark possibility to consider. Hank doesn’t think he would have lasted another year when he met Connor. There was nothing holding him down. And then in walks Connor, the android sent by Cyberlife, with his silly hair and goofy voice, his annoying habit of licking things, his eager need to solve any and all cases and incessant need to stay with Hank no matter what.

 

Thoughts of Connor butted into his drunken stupor, nagging Hank, pushing Hank to see if Connor was more than what he said he was, if he could actually care. Because if he couldn’t then all hope was lost and there was nothing left for Hank. 

 

Hank can see now that fixating on one bot, relying on it to this extent, was unhealthy. However, Hank isn’t going to deny that Connor saved from himself. That inadvertently Connor kept Hank alive long enough to learn that he could hold Cole in his arms again. 

 

“Hey, Connor,” Hank calls out one night, just before he goes to bed. 

 

“Yes, Hank?” Connor turns to him, Sumo at his side. He’s dressed in a dog-pun shirt and a loose-hanging pair of sweatpants, about to power off for the night. 

 

“Thanks for putting up with a grouchy miser like me.”

 

“Don’t worry, Hank.” Connor puts on a wide, radiant smile. “It would take a lot more than your choleric temperament to make any sort of effect on me.”

 

Hank huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Little fucking shit …” Hank flips off the android as he retreats inside to his bedroom. 

* * *

  
  
_ “I did what?” _ Cole hisses furiously. 

 

Hank lets out another belly-aching laugh, bending over from Cole’s contemptuous reaction. “I said--” Hank chokes through his laughter. “You ran out onto the street holding a hammer, screaming out ‘thunder’ at the tops of your lungs.”

 

_ “Why? Why would I do something like that?” _

 

“You-- _ ah _ \--really liked Thor. Although once you read the girl Thor books, you decided you liked her more than the actual Thor.”

 

_ “There are two Thors?” _

 

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. Apparently, Thor became unworthy of his hammer and somebody else was.”

 

_ “How does a hammer decide if somebody is worthy? It’s a hammer.” _ Cole’s disbelief is amusing to hear. It’s a nice change from his scathing words about the UN and the adults bothering him. 

 

“I dunno! Magic?”

 

_ “I’m missing several points here.”  _ There’s a telltale silence on the other line. Cole’s thinking.  _ “I still cannot believe that I was this stupid once. If I did something like at Medea … At least I don’t remember being that stupid. I can pretend it never happened.” _

 

“It’s not being stupid. It’s being a kid. Kids do silly things all the time.”

 

_ “I’m starting to see that. Some of the younger subjects are picking up certain behaviours I’m not sure I can keep up with. 23 has gotten attached to a toy and demands that it be taken everywhere with her. If she doesn’t then she starts yelling and blowing things up. 47 has decided to ‘explore’ the world and keeps running off. Usually, this results in him doing several reckless things that could harm him. Other than myself, there are two other subjects that aide in minding the younger subjects and even then it’s near impossible. I find myself having to practice restraint in not yelling at them quite often.” _

 

“Like I said, kids. Just let them be, but don’t let them run too wild.”

 

_ “Thank you for the advice.” _

 

“Why do you call them by numbers? Don’t they have actual names?”

 

_ “We don’t have much of an attachment to our former names.”  _ Cole quickly backtracks when he realises exactly  _ who _ he is talking to.  _ “I mean, in Medea, using human names were cause for suspicion and we’d be turned in for reconditioning which isn’t a very pleasurable experience. We use numbers since we’re so familiar with them.” _

 

Hank thinks back to his conversation with Reed. He had nearly called Cole ‘Seven;. Not only had Cole been used to being called Seven, the people around him were used referring to him by a number. Medea did all they could to scoop Cole out of his son. They took his name and memories. 

 

If only Hank knew about Medea, maybe he could have done something different. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost Cole.

 

_ “You’re doing it again,”  _ Cole drawls out, annoyed.  _ “The self-hatred and misguided guilt. I’d appreciate it if you stopped that.” _

 

“Kid, you can’t stop people from feeling. Humans don’t work like that. Even if you say it’s not my fault, I was your father. I should have done something.”

 

Cole takes a moment to respond.  _ “I’m not sure what a good person is. Medea didn’t have those standards. They hurt me and the other subjects over and over again. I came to the conclusion that there were only two types of people in this world: those who hurt and those who did the hurting. I wasn’t very interested in being the former so I became the latter to survive. But then I met Gavin and, for the first time, somebody wanted to help me rather than hurt me. _

 

_ “It … It was strange. I couldn’t trust him at first. But if I hadn’t met him, I’d still be under Medea’s control. And I wouldn’t have met you as well. You’re strange like Gavin. You want to help and you seem genuinely want to know me with no ulterior motives. So I think you’re a good person and I don’t want you to blame yourself for what Medea did to me.  _

 

_ I’m not a very emotional person. Attachments can be dangerous for me as they can be used against me. Even so, I find myself enjoying myself when I’m talking with you. You may think you’re doing nothing, however, for me, you’re here. I’m not used to that. It’s … nice.” _

 

Hank finds himself letting out a choked sob. His hand does little to muffle the noise.

 

_ “Are--Are you okay?” _

 

“I’m fine!” Hank gasps out. “I just--I want to see you so damn much.”

 

_ “I’ll see what I can do,”  _ Cole says softly.  _ “Get some sleep. You have work tomorrow.”  _ Cole hangs up with one last gentle goodnight. 

* * *

  
  


Hank wakes up to Connor gently nudging him awake--a welcome change from slapping him. Hank blearily opens his eyes to the android’s passive face, standing rod straight by his bedside. He’s dressed in his officer’s uniform and a lurid pink apron with paw prints tied around him, as he usually is when he wakes Hank up before work. 

 

“Good morning, Hank,” Connor greets him. “Breakfast is on the table for you. Pancakes this time.”

 

Hank groans, rising up from his bed. “Ugh, how cool do you think it would be with Fowler if I took a day off? I don’t feel like going to work today.”

 

“Not very, I would think. The precinct has gotten busier with the increase of crime in Detroit with all the androids-human disputes.”

 

Hank groans. “Fuck, fine,” he grumbles, getting up and moving past Connor. “Up and at ‘em.” 

 

Hank’s halfway through the kitchen threshold when Sumo bolts past him. The Saint-Bernard darts down to the front door, barking and running in small circles. Sumo hadn’t done that in years. He used to do it when he was younger and Cole was still living with Hank. Nowadays, the dog alternates between being lazy and clinging to Connor for attention. 

 

Hank and Connor’s gazes meet, confusion shared between them. Connor breaks the eye contact to further observe Sumo’s behaviour, the canine now dragging claws down the door. 

 

“There must be somebody at the door,” Connor guesses, motioning Sumo away from the door to peek through the peephole. “Oh.”

 

Hank’s already taking a seat at the table. “Who is it? Is it another reporter? Just tell ‘em to fuck off.”

 

Connor unlocks the door, pushing it open. The cold morning chill breezes inside, sending a shiver up Hank’s spine. Sumo jumps out of the house, racing around the front yard. “There’s no one here.”

 

“Actually, there is.”

 

The voices comes from the living room, the area dark from where the curtains are still drawn closed. Hank pushes himself off his seat, instinctively reaching for the gun tucked in his holster that isn’t there. A boy with brown hair falling to one side of his face steps out, hands tucked into a black hoodie. That achingly familiar face wryly looks out to him, putting on a nervous grin. 

 

“Animals tend not to like me,” Cole says. “You said you wanted to see me. I … snuck out.” Cole holds up his blackened hand in a tentative wave. “Hi.”

 

Cole’s … here. Cole is … actually  _ here. _

 

When Hank’s brain finally catches up with the fact, he pushes aside the question of how Cole managed to get in to rush straight at him. Cole takes a cautious step back, shadows dipping his head back in darkness, mouth opening to say something. Hank wraps his arms around his son before he can utter a word, pulling him forwards back into the sunlight. 

 

Cole’s cold, Hank can feel beneath his layers of clothes, and small. Almost skeleton thin. The paternal side of Hank nags at him. Isn’t he eating enough? How far did Medea go? Through all of that, Cole is solid, firm, real-- _ here _ . Hank buckles down to his knees, pulling Cole deeper into the cage of his arms. 

 

“You’re  _ here _ ,” Hank gasps out. 

 

Cole’s hand hovers over Hank’s shoulder. The boy hesitates about whether to reach out to Hank until letting it rest there. The weight is light, nearly non-existent. There was no denying it wasn’t there though. 

 

“Yeah,” Cole replies softly. “Guess I am.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review or kudo! They fuel me to continue writing more!


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